


Recovery Time

by superblooper



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, post Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superblooper/pseuds/superblooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artemis copes. Dick doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the marvelous Annica for beta’ing at odd hours of the night. Babe, I love you. I say “gen” even though I wrote this tilting my head and squinting for traught. The only reason for the pg-13 is swearing. And who fucking cares about that?

She is just so _tired_.

The worst part is the type of tired she is. It isn’t something that could be taken care of with a good night’s sleep or a strong cup of her mother’s herbal tea. It sinks marrow deep in her bones and _stays_ there, clinging to her from the moment she opened her eyes to the second she finally drifts off into a fitful sleep.

The one thing that nullifies this aching pain was the _rush_. It’s _exactly_  as she predicted, before she “died”. It’s a nice coping mechanism, she thinks. The hooks had gotten _in_ , and she was only _too_ happy to hop from the sadness to the smell of her own sweat and the symphony of bones breaking beneath her boots. She swears she’s not a sadist. At least she doesn’t _think_ she is. But being Tigress as a hero isn’t too different from being Tigress as a _villian_ , except for there’s a lot less time in an underwater tin can. Which is an improvement. But it’s also alarming the more you dared think about it.

Aquabad’s Tigress was _brutal._ And _cold._ And _calculating._

It isn’t that Artemis (Kid Flash’s partner) _wasn't_ brutal, because kicking people _in the face_  had been her signature move. But Tigress wasn’t _just_ a deadly fighter. She was _ruthless_ in a way that Artemis never was.

And Artemis- the woman behind the mask- wasn't sure she minded the change. Her newly minted viciousness was a kind of catharsis.

So when Tigress went after her prey, she was _committed_ to the hunt.

Drug rings were tricky. Not because they were all headed by some mastermind with an army of well trained hitmen. It’s because, given enough time, even the dumbest of ringleaders could spread his operation through seven different cities. It made tracking down all the morons a group project.

Artemis decided to handle it _herself_.

This particular ring wasn’t that big. It reached from Gotham to Bludhaven.

And speaking of Bludhaven.

* * *

Batman wasn’t _as_ scary now that she was older. Or, maybe, it was because for once, he hadn’t been a comm call away, ready to fix everything. He hadn’t pulled them out of the fire with fancy tech or his brilliance. He hadn’t saved them. Not all of them. And now something about him wasn’t as omnipotent anymore. His cape wasn’t a piece of the starless Gotham sky, it was just some kind of synthetic Kevlar cotton blend or something.

So she could stand to sound irritable with him. Only fractional to the frustration she was actually feeling.

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know where he is?”

“Just that,” Bruce didn’t give her the courtesy of his full attention, typing with one hand. The index and thumb of his other hand rested on the rim of a crystal cut chaser. The deep rosy liquid was half drained. She can’t remember ever seeing Bruce actually drink. Not counting Christmas of ‘14, because who _hadn't_ been drinking that night?

“You don’t have tracers? GPS? A _cellphone_?” She can feel her knuckles straining, about to pop. Like her temper. She’s two seconds away from calling bullshit on _Batman_. She’s been called a spitfire once or twice, but _that_ might be overstepping her boundaries. Especially if she wants his help.

“He requested I didn’t.”

And now she sees it. There’s a faint line formed in between Bruce’s brows. It’s a tiny crack in his blank expression. She knows all about how the Bats have a monopoly on poker faces, and Batman is the all out champion of impersonal expressions... So she also knows how _bad_ it is.

“His last place was in Bludhaven, wasn’t it?” she asks. Her temper has cooled and her voice is softer.

Bruce nods. The frown deepens. But only slightly. “Will you look for him?”

Artemis shrugs, tugging open the door to his study. Exhaustion is sinking in again. She gives him a sardonic smile, stepping out of sight. “Everyone knows Nightwing’s aren’t migratory birds, Bruce.”

* * *

It takes longer than she thought to take care of the drug ring in Gotham. Pinkish blotches are bleeding over the harbor by the time she makes it to Bludhaven. Sunrise. She could’ve gotten there faster, but she had driven cautiously for once. For some _wild_ reason, she thought a flash of blue would flicker into existence, to escort her into the city limits with a wry smile and messy black hair.

That might’ve happened before. It was wishful thinking now.

That’s what was bothering her. Maybe. She didn’t know.

The fact was that Dick had inspired her. Of course he did. He was the first sidekick. Or partner. However you cut it, he was the _first_. He’d forged the path and he never _quit_. He hadn’t quit when Tula... or _Jason_...

Now, just like when she looked at Bruce, Dick had diminished. That irrepressible trickster had finally bowed out. He’d endured through the countless crises and close calls, even the death of his teammates, but the universe or God had finally dealt him a hand he couldn’t manipulate to his favor. He folded and faded quietly out from everyone’s peripherals in typical Bat fashion.

And where was he? He is- was- IS Wally’s best friend. But he wasn’t _there_. With _them_. They only had each other to lean on. Artemis never pigeonholed herself as emotional. But lately, _they_ gathered around the table just to talk. And it was _helping._ Zatanna’s smile had stopped looking like jagged glass. Conner sentences had stopped wandering off into nothingness. They were healing. M’gann still reached out for Artemis whenever her thoughts took a turn north into the Artic, but that was the whole point. They were there for each other.

Except _him_.

How could he _cope_?

Artemis had respected his pointed absence for months. But... her extended stay in Bludhaven isn’t exactly an accident.

* * *

 

“Artemis?”

“If you say it’s _random_ to meet me here, I swear to _God_ , Grayson.”

That earns her an amused smirk, which is slightly more comforting than his blank confusion.

“I could ask you about that State Spelling Bee,” he remarked. Artemis is _looking_ for a falter in his tone. They _all_ flinch when they reminisce on how _good_ they had it back then. She’s annoyed that she detects none. But then, she’s dealing with a _Bat_. They will never play fair.

“ _N-O_ ,” she replies. But she runs a hand through her hair, a clear sign of her discomfort. She doesn’t want to fall into a memory loop. Those memories can stay buried (if only they had a body). “I came here to talk about you.”

Dick looks at her. Really _looks_. Artemis feels raw and angry, but bites her lip and lets him look.

“You look good, ‘Mis,” he says finally. There are circles under his eyes and his hair is shaggy and unkempt and is this man really two years _younger_ than her?

“Can it,” she snaps, because it scares her, how old he looks. It’s in direct conflict with their impromptu spelling bee. The Dick Grayson of mathletes and _D-R-A-G_ ’s is gone. Now he’s filled out and become meaner and more angular. Not in an entirely bad way. But hedging around a _scary_ way.

“As the lady wishes,” Dick shoots back, complacent. There’s a maddening expression on his face, an impression of Batman’s impassive stare, but Artemis can _sense_ the amusement behind it. His lighthearted attitude is getting on her nerves.

She stalks toward him, hand still stuffed in the pockets of her windbreaker. He stands immediately, setting his lunchbag on the bench. Little Dick Grayson bringing his bag lunch to eat in this shithole of a park. How cute.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” she hisses lowly. She crowds him, leaning upward, into his face. She wants him to take back what he said. She’s not looking good. She maintains personal hygiene. But she’s got her own shadows beneath her bloodshot eyes. And if he looks real close, he might see how completely shattered she is on the inside. Like someone punched through a pane of glass, and the leftover glass is jagged and sharp and brittle.

“Why don’t _you_ tell me?” Dick responds, almost angrily. Of course, when he stops being an emotionless freak, he starts being an irritable jackass. “Since you _clearly_ have an answer in mind.” He folds his arms, hands brushing her stomach. She ignores them, too riled to think about things like human contact and isolation.

“Don’t play stupid,” she growls. She suddenly doesn’t want to do this. Emotions are messy. She has far too many of her own choking out her heartbeat to try and fix Dick. She should’ve just laid low, beat the bad guys, then left.

Instead she went looking for him. Bludhaven wasn’t big enough to hide the son of Bruce Wayne. Not from her.

Dick’s expression is unimpressed. But Artemis doesn’t _want_ to impress him. She wants to hug him if he wants it and talk about Wally if it’ll help. It’s helped her. Hugging Kaldur and mourning over the many walls with a Wally-shaped imprint on them had helped her _so much_. Dick couldn’t be coping. Not alone. Could he?

“Humor me.”

God, she hates that neutrality. The _apathy_.

It isn’t fair. Because she knows Dick Grayson. She saw the way he reached out to every new member of the Team. She knows he spars with La’gaan when no one else volunteers. He doesn’t comment when Blue had muttered to himself. And don’t even mention his successors. He was like a _mother hen_ with the Robin’s.

He cares. But why doesn’t he care _now_?

“My problem,” Artemis begins. But she doesn’t know where she’s going. So she casts her gaze around them. Bludhaven’s grimy and dark everywhere, opposed to Gotham, which has the glamour of the Palisades and the Business District. It’s really filthy. And she doesn’t know why Dick choses _this_ place when he has the world at his fingertips and Zeta beams to get there.

Dick stares hard at her.

And she still has to stamp out that little part of her that marvels. Part of her mind _still_ has the gall to feel _honored_ to know what color irises are behind Nightwing’s mask. It’s annoying. But that’s how much it means to her. Even after all this time.

“It’s _you_ , okay?” Artemis blurts. Screw tact. Leave that to sneaky bastards. Like Dick.

She almost misses his reply. “Some specificity?” Dick says. His voice is hollow and whispery. She can’t tell if he knows why she’s really here in this god awful place. Does he know how fucked up he is? Does he even know where to start?

His eyes look huge and _wet._

That only makes her angrier. If he cries... He should’ve cried. _He should've_ -

“ _You should've been there_ ,” she screams.

The world must’ve stopped to listen. There is nothing but silence. No cars. No birds. She can’t even feel herself breathe.

Dick reaches up a hand, maybe to rake his fingers through his dark hair. But then he drops his arm, gripping his elbows tightly. Is he shaking?

“You should’ve been there,” Artemis repeats. She glowers. She can feel the lightning in her eyes. The crackle of heat and electricity. “He is- he was- What kind of man calls himself a _best friend_ and doesn’t even show up to the funeral?”

He’s definitely trembling. She can see it through his jacket. But he’s face is that same damn mask. Not the black arches that hide his secret identity, the blank expression that hides HIM. She thinks she sees tightens around the eyes. Maybe hope isn’t lost. Maybe she can reach him.

“I- And then you just,” she can’t get enough air into her lungs. It’s like they’re being crushed. Forced through a trash compactor. “You _left_. Dick, he _died_ for _us_. And you’re just going to _quit_?!” She gasps, lightheaded. It feels good to air out these festering thoughts of hers.

It takes her a moment, but she reorients herself.

There’s wetness sliding down Dick’s face. It catches the afternoon sun, clinging to his jawline. He can’t maintain eye contact. He’s shaking _so hard_ , clutching himself _so hard_ , he’ll _bruise._

“You two left _us_.” He twists her words around. Trying to protect himself, grabbing for something to hold onto. To pull the famous razzle dazzle show that is so typical of Dick Grayson, so he recollect himself and put that ice cool facade back into place. Not this time. Artemis is determined to break him down. She doesn’t understand why she needed to. But she feels more and more desperate watching tears slide down his face. He’s trying to keep his expression blank, despite the wetness spilling down his the planes of his cheeks.

“We were going to come back,” she tells him. “How _could_ you think we’d be gone for good? You... _moron_.”

Dick hiccups. It might’ve been a laugh. The mask is crumbling. It’s beautiful. Or it would be, if it wasn’t so horrifying.

“I... I wanted you two back so _bad_ , ‘Mis,” he admits. He has no right to sound like that. Like a child afraid of the dark. Like a frightened child, watching his parents plummet through the bright lights into the depths of the center ring. “I c-couldn’t. I-I wanted you both _back_. But I didn’t for mean it- for THIS,” he shakes harder, arms tensed and straining against his jacket. He looks hollow and empty, pouring out raw emotion. Finally. “I didn’t expect him t-to. Oh God. Oh _God_. It shouldn’t’ve been Wally. It shouldn’t... He shoul- I-I.”

Artemis rushes him, cradling him in her arms. He’s taller, but he sags bonelessly into her embrace. He’s hands are still vices on his own biceps, but his chin hooks her shoulder when he bends slightly. She strokes his hair. God, he’s a moron. But she’s there.

Slowly, slowly he relaxes enough to unlock his arms and slide them around her waist. They cling pathetically to each other for a very long time.

It’s only later, when she sees her reflection and her puffy eyes, that she realizes she was crying just as hard as him

* * *

Tigress is in rare form tonight.

That nap probably had something to do with it. Artemis sleeps hardest after sobbing grossly all over her boyfriend’s best friend. Which... makes him her best friend, now.

She’s tracking down her prey with stunning efficiency. She tracks down the final group of armed thugs. That’s when things veer unexpectedly off course.

The Bludhaven PD is already on the scene, setting up a barricade around a warehouse. Artemis assumes that the perps are holed up nice and tight in there. She can slip behind enemy lines and take ‘em out from there. But she’d rather not get drilled full of holes.

She addresses one of the officers. One with a walkie talkie.

“I need you to tell your men to hold fire.”

The man starts, eyes wild. Artemis gets some satisfaction from that. She understands why it so fun for Robin ( _her_ Robin) to play in the shadows.

Then _she_ starts.

He’s dressed in a slightly rumpled uniform, a silver badge pinned proudly on his breast. But she couldn’t forget those eyes ever. They’re still a little red from their cryfest earlier.

“You think you could do that for me, Officer Grayson?” she purrs. Looks like she was wrong. Dick doesn’t stop fighting the good fight, just because he’s _not_ in a skintight bodysuit. She’s grinning, she can feel a _ridiculous_ smile on her face. She shouldn't, but she feels _proud_ of him.

She feels less stupid about it, though, when Dick matches her smile with a smirk of his own.

Things _suck._ Wally is dead.

But they’ve started healing. And this time, “they” doesn’t exclude Dick. They’ll get through this. Dick, Conner, Megan, Kaldur, Zatanna, _and_ Artemis.

So maybe things suck a little less than they _could._

“It’d be my pleasure, Tigress.” Dick tips his hat. Forever the gentleman. There’s _life_ in his face, as opposed to that unholy blank mask. His eyes dance. They’re... not mirthful. But they’re just shy of playful.

Quickly, she reaches out. Cups his cheek, strokes his nose with a finger. She just needs to... reassure him. Or herself. She needed to touch.

“I’m counting on you,” she warns, withdrawing. She’s got her grapple in her hands. And she can see that yearning buried beneath Dick’s simple glance.

Maybe there’s more meaning behind her words than she thought. Dick squeezes her arm, with a really earnest look on his face. It must be the cop getup. “I’ll come through for you,” he promises.

Something in her gut twinges.

Yeah. They’re healing. They’ll get through this. Together.

She smiles at him, just for a second, before she turns, depressing the trigger of her grapple, and Tigress launches herself into the fray.


End file.
